Wednesday, 28 June 2006

Burgeo to Francois (Newfoundland)

The fog was even denser in the morning so I stayed in 'bed' hoping it would clear. Eventually I gave up waiting and got up anyway and walked the beaches and trails through the park. It was beautifully peaceful and quiet walking on the deserted beaches with only the gentle rasp of water on sand as the small waves caressed the shore.

There were signs next to the beaches about the Piping Plover, a small endangered shorebird, which nests along the beach in May to August, threatening a huge fine ($50,000 I think) or up to one year in jail for interfering with their nests. I did get to see one, but couldn't get close enough for a photo as it would maintain a healthy distance ahead of me, it little legs going comically fast.

It is thought that the Sandbanks area was settled before Burgeo itself, because of the good grazing in the dunes, but the only evidence of this now is an isolated cemetary behind one of the beaches. At Fox Point I met one of the locals out walking (his wife was from Grand Bruit) who was telling me that the population of Burgeo has dropped to about 1700 in recent years because of the restrictive fishing quotas and that it might soon be uneconomic to run a ferry service to places like Grand Bruit. I wonder if these small outports would have any future as purely tourist resorts in the summer as they have quite a lot to offer; wildlife, scenery, hiking, fishing, sea kayaking, etc. Grand Bruit would make a perfect scenic retreat.

By 10:30 the fog was starting to break up a little and some sun was peeping through the clouds, but the fog could still blow in at any moment too. I packed up the bike and cycled into town in search of lunch at the Gilletts Motel. (I wonder if I'll still ketchup when I stop cycling or if I'll return to my prior disdain. The latter I suspect.)

After lunch I just had time to sprint up Maiden Tea Hill to get a panoramic view around town in a brief spell of clear weather. I then cycled down to the quay and found that the ferry was already there, loading was in full swing and passengers were arriving. On this ferry there were a couple of big boxes on the top deck for passengers to load their own luggage into. I loaded the bike myself too and found a safe place to secure it. (Burgeo to Francois - $7)

I don't know where the myth about outporters being so much more friendly comes from. It's certainly not my experience. I always thinks it's nice to make eye contact, smile and say 'hello'. But I was just getting blanked. They seemed to avoid eye contact and just ignored me. When I did try to make conversation it was clear from the body language that they weren't comfortable with it and it soon petered out.

The ferry left promptly at 1:45 pm and once away from the coast we were soon out from under the cloud cover and basking in the sun. After about an hour, the ferry stopped at the island outport of Ramea, which was a surprise to me as it wasn't on the schedule I had. A nice surprise though as I got a brief glimpse of Ramea - one of the few places I've seen in North America that has wind turbines. From Ramea we continued on out way to Grey River whose location is quite dramatic. You sail through the narrow entrance way of the North East Arm fjord and suddenly you get a glimpse of the settlement of Grey River. As you approach closer you can see that this small cramped community is nestled into the V at the bottom of two big mountains. There was some more loading and unloading to be done here, so the turnaround time was about half an hour.

When we set off again for the last leg of out voyage, the male passengers brought out a couple of cases of beer and stood around on the top deck together talking and drinking. Cigarette butts and bottle tops went over the side, and when the beer bottles were empty they went over too. Then the cardboard cases. I don't know if these people were permanent residents or summer returners, but it's difficult to have much sympathy for the loss of fishing livelihoods if they have so little respect for the sea. (I guess I know who the Tim Horton's customers are now too)

We passed under a big bank of cloud but emerged out the other side just as we arrived into Francois, which has similar setting as Grey River, but not quite as dramatic. I found out where the camping area was - behind the church (seems to be the norm) - and set off to push my bike up the impossibly steep paths. The Cooks Hole campsite barely has room to pitch one tent (get here early!) but has 3 picnic tables and lots of blackflies. Once I'd pitched the tent I went straight out to the C@P site at the school, which turned out to be closed although the notice said it would be open until 9 pm. I sat on the steps to write diary in the vain hope that someone would arrive to open it up. The sky was a clear pale blue and the evening sun lit up in orange the tops of the mountains on the opposite side of the tranquil inlet. Of all the people who walked past as I sat there, most just ignored me completely. It was more likely that a youngster would say hello than an adult. If anyone made the mistake of glancing in my direction I would wave or say hello to force a response. This is the unfriendliest place I've been. There was no pub, no place to socialise (no surprise there then) so I retired to the tent for an early night as I have an early start in the morning.

Do you think that eating a whole packet of 9 mini Raspberry Danish counts as one portion of your daily fruit requirement?

Distance: 6.8 km
Cycling time: 0:35
Total distance: 2466.9 km